Survive
by Prettywittywoman
Summary: These stories are based off of OC's in the Apocalypse, these stories are based either off of prior, during or post apocalypse. My Best friend ( RB- RetardedBoy) and i are working on these stories together. These stories are not based primarily off of the walking dead characters although some characters may be mentioned in some stories.
1. Plague

**A/N: This was originally written by myself but i did not think it was good enough so RB (RetardedBoy) fixed it up and made it her own. so all credits goes towards her :)**

_**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD NOR SHALL I MAKE A PROFIT OFF OF IT**_

**Plague**

I smiled down at my two younger siblings, who fought were fighting over the remote and yelling and screaming like little pests. Mother sighed for the tenth time that day, shaking her head muttering about supper as she got up and went to the kitchen.

Finally, I snatched the remote from them and tuned into the News. There was no surprise there, just the same shocking and appalling discovery about more people getting attacked on the streets, and some sort disease is on the loose. It had only gotten worse.

We were so foolish to just assume our daily lives, pretending everything is under control and nothing was wrong. The hospitals became a warzone, streets filled with cars, vans and trucks all preparing to leave the city. People running, screaming…Blood, vomit, dying screams, cry for help, door locked.

My two little brothers, Ken and Andrew, clung to me during the hectic days. Crying and coming to me to reassure them as our mother phoned everyone in our family, and going out occasionally to get food. She always came back, looking dazed and sick.

The News told us to remains indoors and to keep our homes bunkered down until everything has calmed down. How stupid, I wanted to leave our house and pack up our things and get going. Mom refused, saying that everything will be ok.

Andrew was in the living room with Ken, watching a movie and ignoring the noise outside. The yells and the crashing, car horns honking, people yelling, he wrapped his arms around Ken holding him close. They comforted each other, and I felt so useless.

Mom went outside, in need of getting groceries and food due to the fact that we were running low. I tried to keep her inside, yelling and begging her not to go.

She left, ignoring my pleas saying that she will back soon and keep an eye on the kids. I ended up sitting in the hallway, listening to my Andrew talking softly to Ken and telling him a wondrous story; an adventure story.

The door burst open, I looked up to see Mom looking pale and scared as she fumbled with the locks on the door. Muttering and cursing, I got up from the floor inching towards her slowly. She spun around, her eyes wide and crazed before she forced a smile on her face.

"Sweetie, are-are the kids' safe?" She asked me, her voice sounding weak and frail. I noticed her arm had a bite mark on it, it was bleeding and a good portion of the flesh there was gone. "Just check the kids please!"

"Mom, there fine! What happened out there? Who did this to you?" I asked her, trying to help her but she merely just shoved me aside and stumbled upstairs. "Mom, why aren't you talking to me? Let me help you! Please, tell me what is going on!"

She refused to answer, the only thing I heard from her was the hard slam of her door. Andrew appeared beside me, scared and staring at the blood trail on the ground. Ken picked at the blood on the ground, putting his finger in it and tasting it.

"Ken, don't do that! Spit that out right now!" I yelled at him, startling him and making him jump. He looked up at me scared and frightened before Andrew came and took him back to the living room. I cursed, grabbing at my hair in frustration. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all.

Tick…Tock…

It's been twenty minutes now, why is Ken looking so sick? Must give him some medicine…

Tick…Tock…

Ken puked, he looks so sickly. Andrew is crying. Mom hasn't left her room since she came back.

Tick…Tock…

The screams outside intensified, someone banged on our door. More screams, more groans….Ken is breathing too shallow, his skin has gone pale. Andrew comforting Ken…A strange noise coming from Mom's room.

Tick…Tock…

Checked in on mom, she is just laying there. Breathing fast, sweating and pleading for me to close the door but II left it open, telling her I will give her some medicine…Andrew screaming, ran downstairs, Ken was attacking Andrew, biting and clawing. A broken neck, shock and adrenaline running through me…Mom came rushing downstairs, looking ravenous and threw herself unto me.

Tick…Tock…

Dead bodies, two of them I killed. Andrew screaming and crying, I scooped him up in my arms and we went outside. Finally, I can see the truth of what is going on. Witnessing the carnage, the blood, the pleas, while searching for someplace safe…This is our new hell on earth now and survival is everything…Sorry, I couldn't protect you Andrew but I had to live. I didn't want to die.


	2. Denial

**A/N: This is from my friend, RB, who had written this. We are both going to work on this and at the end...It's harsh. Just upsetting.**

**RB: It's good, ignore her...**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own The walking dead or its characters.**_

* * *

**Denial**

Then she began walking, with him right behind her and he noticed an odor of decay, of mold, and a strange, sour musk like nothing he'd never smelled before. It was the smell of rotten flesh, dying sweat, of boiling vomit and poisonous chemicals. It was beyond stench, a foul miasma that raped his lungs and burned his eyes and throat.

He dried heave resisting the urge to vomit at the horrendous odor and the mutilated corpses in the room. Tears fell down his cheeks, making him stifle his sobs as he clamped a hand over his mouth. His mother looked back at him, checking on him as she gave him a weak smile.

It hurt so much. He felt himself sweating, burning up as he lumbered after her, trying to maintain speed with her through this desecrated building. The hallways painted with dried up blood and new, and the floors were littered with junk and old corpses.

He stumbled over a decaying corpse, crying out. He jumped a bit at the warm and cooling hands of his mom, steadying him as he regained his balance.

It was so painful. He wanted to scream, yell at the top of his lungs, cry to his heart contents but he couldn't do that. It was a sign of weakness and he had to be strong for the both of them. It didn't matter if he was a kid; he had to protect his mom and be helpful.

So why is it so hard? Why is his vision growing so hazy these few past hours? He wanted to cry in shame, to curl up and die, as he begged his mom for a rest. To sleep a bit, to just rest a bit from the long day they had.

She looked sad, despite that smile on her face as she led him to a room. It smelled like vomit and rotting flesh but it was somewhat clean. The bed wasn't bad, it looked a bit dirty but there was no blood on it.

"Is it ok?" He asked, walking over to the bed. "I mean, if we have to get moving, I-I can still go on."

She smiled, closing the door softly and walking over to the dirt covered window. "It's fine; just take a nice sleep sweetie. You earned it." She laughed quietly, but it sounded forced. As if she wasn't really sure to be happy or not but he didn't care right now.

"OK," He took of his backpack, the weight off his shoulders at long last. He threw the covers off and climbed in the bed but he pretended to sleep.

Sweating, aching, his wound stinging and throbbing violently as he struggled to maintain the pained groans in. Everything was growing so cold all of a sudden, his body felt so clammy and his chest hurt so badly. Crying…? She was crying for him, he could feel her weight on the bed, feel the nice warmth of her hand on his forehead, but what was she saying?

No, don't let it be true. Please don't do this. He had to survive for the both of them. He had to live and protect his mom. Please don't let it be true. Please don't do this to him. She was pressing the cold steel of a gun barrel against his temple; he opened his eyes at the contact and peered up at her, his eyes wide with fear.

"Mom…? Please, no-Don't! Please! Mom…Mom…?" He cried weakly, tears and snot falling down as he blubbered like a baby. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to see she was going to do it; Couldn't come to terms that it was time as he started gasping for air, his lungs burning. "No-Don't do it…! Mom, please…!"

He felt nothing, dead and empty eyes staring up at the mother he had loved and trusted.

She wept silently, scooping him up in her arms as she cried for her loss. His pleas burned in her memory, but she was given no choice. He was bitten. She had to do it.

"I'm so sorry…" Her words rang empty; no one could hear them as she placed one last kiss on his forehead her last goodbye to him.


	3. Fallen

Fallen

He used to be somebody, someone respectable and well admired by his colleagues in his line of work. Everything was going right for him, his job falling into place after a few rough bumps along the way and the family he had made with his loving and doting wife.

Their two little boys, he had done everything for them and made sure to be the best father he could be to them. It was amazing to see them smiling in the morning, their pouty faces when they had to eat their vegetables. It was never boring, and goodness knows, his wife loved it.

He felt himself smiling at the memory, and dropped the smile. It was gone, everything was gone. He had lost everything and there was nothing he could do to get them back. The blood, the dying screams, the carnage he witnessed…His wife's frightened eyes as she chased after their son.

The door breaking down, the snarling and growling from the undead as they made there way in their home. He carried his son in his arms, running to the backdoor, screaming and crying for his wife.

Why didn't he do anything? He ran out the backdoor, closing it and running into the yard but stopping and turning around at his wife's frantic screaming.

He closed his eyes, recalling the sight he witnessed. She was there, right in the children bedroom, banging on the window, their son in her arms. He watched her opening the window, climbing out with their son and closing the window behind them.

He remembers crying out to her, but it was too late. The door busted open, the undead scrambling and lurching towards him and his son. Remembers running away, never looking back, her screams and his name on her lips, and he ignored them. Frightened and scared as he ran with his son.

"Dad, are you ok?" He was brought out of his memory and turned to face his son. "They want you; one of the older men is hurt. He got shot."

He marveled at the sight of his son, the tired look on his face and how skinny he had gotten. The dark circles underneath his eyes, a clear indication of a lack of sleep. "Alright, you stay here alright? Get some sleep, maybe eat something at least. Get some strength in you."

He went out of the trailer, hearing the silent good bye from his son. He had fallen, he was nothing but a conniving Bitch now, stealing and robbing from other survivors and making sure their group is kept alive. He had turned into nothing but a criminal, a cruel and heartless Bitch, but he didn't mind it to any more.

What is there to feel sorry about anyway? It was time to forget the past, and move on. It was time to survive.


End file.
